


By the Book

by Griselda_Gimpel



Series: Rebuilding Ishval [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Boss/Employee Relationship, Canon - Manga, Canon Compliant, Canon Continuation, F/M, Gen, Het, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Genocide, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Ishbal | Ishval, Ishbalan Character(s) | Ishvalan Character(s), M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Promised Day, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-27 03:05:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16210088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Griselda_Gimpel/pseuds/Griselda_Gimpel
Summary: Scar and Major Miles work to bring the State Alchemists to justice.





	1. Chapter 1

                It was a fine autumn day, not that autumn meant much in Ishval. Scar had had a tiring but productive day working on directing the first class of alchemists in their work constructing the new water and sewer system that would underline the city that Scar and Miles were building together. (The alchemists were getting a very practical education, learning and building at the same time.)

                Scar arrived back at the dwelling he and Miles shared before Miles did. They’d been living together for a month. Scar still called his partner “Miles” instead of by his given name. Scar had asked what it was, after Miles had invited him out to dinner not long after they’d arrived in Ishval. Scar had learned that Miles’ given name was “Bradley” and readily agreed not to use it. Miles kept on saying he was going to change it to “Miles Keystone”, but he was so busy he hadn’t had the time.

                As for Scar’s name, he’d dawdled on picking out a new name until his master finally insisted he take the name “Ezekiel”. The name hadn’t appealed to Scar any more than any of the other names suggested had, but then Miles (who’d been slowly reading through the Books of Ishvala, with Scar helping with some of the more archaic turns of phrases) told Scar “It’s okay to accept a second gift from Ishvala.” It had been an almost offhanded comment, but it had made Scar think, and since he did need a legal name, he’d assented.

                The old man who’d pulled Scar out of the sewer and given him shelter in the slums of East City turned out to have been a lawyer back Before, and he had handled Scar’s paperwork. Scar was now legally “Ezekiel Keystone”. He was starting to warm up to “Zeke” as a nickname, although most people – including Miles – still called him “Scar”.

                Scar was relaxing on the couch when Miles arrived home. He could tell immediately that his partner had had a rougher day than Scar.

                “Mind if I use your lap as a pillow?” Miles asked. Scar nodded and scooted to the end of the couch so that Miles could lie down.

                Their relationship was illegal under Amestrian law, but it was not, Scar had explained, prohibited by Ishvala. However, there were – Scar had detailed to Miles at length – ablution requirements, certain acts that were to be abstained from on fast days, and also an injunction against intercourse in the temple. Miles had asked weakly why there was a specific law for the last one, but Scar’s answer had only prompted more questions.

                “How was your day?” Miles asked, looking up at Scar.

                “Good,” Scar said shortly. “We finished with the east section of the sewer system.” He paused. “We’re planning for the city to be able to support two million people.”

                “Marvelous,” said Miles. “Sounds like you had a better day than me.”

                “What happened?”

                “Grumman wants non-Briggs troops in Ishval,” groaned Miles. “He said, and I quote, ‘It’ll be a good experience for the boys to interact with more Ishvalans. It’ll be good for your people, too.’”

                “No,” Scar said flatly.

                “That’s what I said,” Miles said. “At which point he suggested that some of the new Ishvalan troops be transferred to elsewhere in the country. Same reason. I reject that suggestion, too.”

                “Has there been any trouble with the Briggs troops?” Scar asked.

                “No, not since the first week,” Miles said. The first batch of Briggs soldiers Major General Armstrong had sent to help rebuild Ishval had included one Private Jack Thomas, who’d made a disparaging remark to Mistress Shan on his second day. The incident had gotten back to Miles, who’d sent Private Thomas back to Briggs for discipline. Scar had been present at the time, and it hadn’t been a pretty sight. He hadn’t known that anything could make a Briggs soldier flinch, but Private Thomas had been near tears at the prospect of facing Major General Armstrong. Scar was happy to see that Miles’ decision had had the desired affect at ensuring the good behavior of the other soldiers.

                “Did Grumman listen to you?” Scar asked.

                Miles groaned again. “I must be grateful to Brigadier General Mustang there. He backed me, and Grumman listened to _him_.”

                “How goes the trial against the-“ Scar spit the words “-Hero of Ishval?”

                “Swimmingly,” Miles said, “since he didn’t leave any of his victims alive, we’ve got no proof that he ever killed anyone.” He sighed. “I’ve sent in numerous requests to Central for records, but no luck so far. Everyone “doesn’t know” or “can’t find the requested document” or I just get no reply. I even sent a request for Mustang to come here and answer questions, but I’m not holding out hope.”

                “What about the other State Alchemists?”

                “Interviews here produced a dozen eye witnesses who could testify against Giolio Comanche.”

                “The Silver Alchemist? I killed him already.”

                “Yup.” Miles crossed his hands over his chest, shifting his head in Scar’s lap slightly. “Major General Armstrong offered to perjury herself if I wanted her to, but I told her that that’s not the Ishval I wanted to rebuild.”

                “I just want justice,” Scar said.

                “Me, too,” Miles. “That’s why I was wondering if you could talk to Marcoh?”

                “Why him?”

                “He might know something. I’m swamped, though, and anyway, you know him better.”

                Scar scowled. That meant he was going to have to talk to Mistress Shan.

                The next morning, Scar and Miles grabbed a quick breakfast of rations (jerky, biscuit, and coffee) that was being distributed to everyone by Briggs troops. Crops were being planted in Ishval, but it was going to be a while before the region was self-sufficient.

                _Not that we’ll ever be entirely self-sufficient_ , Scar thought as he kissed Miles and they parted ways for the day. The new Ishvalan alchemists were starting work on the aqueduct system that day, and the plan was for the pipes to stretch all the way to Mt. Briggs, distributing water to the arid regions that stretched the length of eastern Amestris. Scar had been apprehensive about project, realizing it meant that Ishval would never again be an independent country, but Miles had been persuasive, describing the miles of pipes as the stitches that might one day heal the country.

                Like many things in Ishval that the alchemists were constructing, the primary building component was Isvhal’s most abundant natural resource: sand. With the molecules properly reconstructed, it became sandstone, which could be used in a variety of structures. Nevertheless, sandstone didn’t work for everything, and a regular line of trucks driven by Briggs soldiers carried building materials into Ishval. After instructing the alchemist class on their duties for the day, Scar hailed one of the trucks heading for the hospital and asked for a ride. One of soldiers that Miles was training – her name was Private Kanda – was in the truck, as well. She chatted with Scar on the way to the hospital, explaining that she was shadowing for the day.

                “Did you know that Major Miles once fought a grizzly bear?” Private Kanda was asking Scar, eyes wide, as they pulled up to the hospital.

                “Standard issue training for a Briggs soldier,” said the soldier driving.

                “Is Armstrong planning to ship some grizzlies down here for the new recruits?” Scar asked, carefully poker faced.

                “She wouldn’t!” Private Kanda exclaimed.

                “Don’t worry,” the soldier driving assured her, as Scar got off, “your first grizzlies always the hardest. It’s easy going after that.”

                “You have to fight more than one?” Scar heard Private Kanda wail as he headed toward the hospital and turned his mind to the business at hand.

                Dr. Tim Marcoh had stood trial for his crimes as soon as Ishval had a tent that could function as a courtroom. The lawyer who’d saved Scar in East City had served as the prosecution. (At the moment, he was Ishval’s only prosecutor, which meant that he handled all of the cases. Ishvalan names were sacred, and the old man hadn’t chosen to divulge his name to Scar, so Scar – and most everyone else – had taken to referring to the old man as the Prosecutor.)

                Scar had provided the list of charges, Marcoh had obligingly plead guilty on all counts, and Miles – serving as judge because there wasn’t anyone else available at the time – had handled the sentencing. Marcoh had gotten life in prison, but it had been agreed that he would be allowed to continue working as a doctor. (The hospital hadn’t even been built at the time of Marcoh’s trial; he’d been seeing patients out of a tent.) It had taken less than an afternoon. Then Scar had had to build a prison cell so that there was a place to lock Marcoh up for the night.

                The hospital was run by Mistress Shan, and she was the reason that Scar had stood trial for the murder of the Rockbells. At Miles’ urging, Scar had pled Not Guilty.  (Miles hadn’t been the judge for Scar’s trial; they’d found someone right before it began.) The trial had taken three days, and at the end of it the jury had found Scar Not Guilty By Reason of Temporary Insanity. Mistress Shan was prone to derisively referring to it as Not Guilty By Reason of Having Offed the Führer. She might have accepted the verdict, but it didn’t make her like Scar any better.

                Like many of the structures in Ishval, the hospital was still being built. Unlike many of the structures in Ishval, the hospital wasn’t being built to address an expected future need but to handle the huge influx of patients in the here and now. It was expected that the demand would lessen as time went on, but most Ishvalans hadn’t had access to a doctor in years. The hospital was never not hectic.

                There wasn’t a receptionist to speak to, so Scar simply grabbed the first person he saw and asked where Mistress Shan was. He found her in her office, staring at an entire wall covered in papers. Scar coughed to get her attention.

                “Go away,” Mistress Shan said when she saw who it was.

                “I need to speak with you.”

                “Well, I’m busy,” snapped Mistress Shan. “I’m trying to assess demand so I can more efficiency utilize the resources available.”

                “It’s about the trials,” Scar said, his patience wearing thin.

                “Your own?” Mistress Shan asked.

                “No,” Scar said shortly. “The trials for the State Alchemists.”

                “Oh, fine,” Mistress Shan said, finally turning from the paper-covered wall. “What does that have to do with me? Major Miles already talked to me; the only State Alchemists I could bear witness against is Kimblee, and he’s not getting a trial.”

                “I was hoping to speak to Marcoh.”

                “He’s busy,” Mistress Shan replied promptly.

                “It’s important,” Scar pressed.

                “Then talk to him tonight when he’s not working,” Mistress Shan snapped. “I’ve got him seeing patients all day. We don’t have very many doctors, no thanks to you.”

                “Fine,” Scar said, seeing that Mistress Shan wasn’t going to budge. There hadn’t been any progress on the trials since Marcoh’s trial; the investigation could wait a little longer until tonight.

                Scar scowled. By time Marcoh got done working at the hospital, Scar would be leading the pre-dinner prayer. After dinner, Scar taught a language class on Classical Ishvalan. By time he finished with that, visiting hours at the prison would be over. Unless he wanted to cancel, he was going to have to question Marcoh while eating.

                “You’re the alchemist, right?” a small voice interrupted Scar’s thoughts. He looked down to see a young child walking awkwardly toward him. Her right leg ended at the knee. The rest of the leg was nothing more than a peg. It lacked a hinge joint, and Scar could see it was the wrong length.

                Scar knelt down. “I am. What do you need?”

                “I’m supposed to go the pro- the pro- the department where I get a new leg. But I’ve forgotten what it’s called, and now I don’t know where to go!” The little girl was near tears.

                “Hush. Don’t cry,” Scar tried. “Here. I can take you to the prosthetics department.”

                “Prosthetics,” the little girl repeated. She looked to be about five. Scar didn’t have to ask why she had had to come to the hospital alone. Disease spread readily in the slums, and inadequate medical care could kill as readily as State Alchemists.

                He took her hand and led her toward Mistress Shan’s office. There were wonders that could be done with automail prosthetics, that were far better than the most basic of pegs. But the finer things in life hadn’t been allotted to Ishval.

                Scar knocked on Mistress Shan’s office.

                “What do you wa- oh! The poor dear! What does she need?”

                “Prosthetics department. She needs a longer leg.”

                “Go down that hall, take a left, then two rights. Third door on the left.”

                Scar nodded and then escorted the little girl to her destination. After that, he left the hospital and went back to his class of alchemists. He winced when he arrived. The lesson for the day was carbon alloy bindings for the parts of the aqueduct pipes that would receive the most amount of stress. He had instructed them on the equation before heading to the hospital, but he clearly hadn’t gone over it enough times. The class had made some of the bindings and was doing a test run, which was not going well. The bindings weren’t strong enough, and the section of the pipe they had built and were testing had burst.

                He gestured for them to stop, examined the bindings they made, and then went over the equation with them again. There were groans from the class as they realized that they were going to have to start over again, and many a tattoo-covered arm dropped as the shoulders sank, but there was no helping it. They needed to get it right.

                While he supervised their work, Scar tried to decide on the lesson plan for his Classical Ishvalan class that evening. He could always just have them translate one of the sacred texts, but interactive lessons tended to stick better. He scowled. He didn’t have enough time to come up with one of those.

                He considered the pre-dinner prayer. He would need to say something nice about Mistress Shan. That was one of the teachings of Ishvala. If you were frustrated with one of your brothers or sisters, you should try to speak to their good points, lest your heart become hardened.

                When it was finally time for dinner, Scar gave a quick prayer – in which he praised Mistress Shan’s devotion to her patients – grabbed a bowl of bean soup, created a lid for the soup with alchemy, and then ran as fast as he could for the one-cell jail where Marcoh was enjoying a solitary dinner.

                There wasn’t a guard, and there wasn’t a lock on the door. There were special restraints that could stop an alchemist from performing alchemy, but there hadn’t been one on hand when Marcoh had been sentenced, and it seemed silly ordering one now. Besides there were so many other things that were needed more, just as there were so many more worthwhile things for an individual to do than to stand guard over Ishval’s solitary prisoner. Either Marcoh was going to stay put in the jail when he wasn’t working or he wasn’t, and if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t have been in Ishval to stand trial to begin with.

                “Marcoh,” said Scar by way of greeting.

                “Scar!” replied Marcoh, looking up and smiling. “Care to join me?”

                Scar entered the cell and took a seat on the bench, opening his soup and sipping it. It was tasteless and over salted. “I have questions,” Scar said between sips. “About your time as a State Alchemist.”

                “I already told you everything I know,” Marcoh protested.

                “I have different questions,” Scar said. “We need evidence. What do you know about the crimes committed by the other State Alchemists?”

                “Oh.” Marcoh frowned his brow in thought. “Well, I told you about Kimblee…”

                “Living State Alchemists only,” Scar clarified.

                “I’m awfully sorry,” Marcoh said. “I mostly interacted with my research assistants, and they’re all gone now. No, wait, that’s not correct. There was Billy’s case.”

                “Details,” said Scar, shortly, and then finished his soup in a final gulp.

                Marcoh nodded. “Billy Smith was one of my research assistant. Young man. My goodness, I haven’t thought of him in years. One day, I caught him swiping a briefcase from my office, and when I asked him why he wanted it, he came clean.”

                “Go on.”

                “He had been collecting paperwork. Transfer orders, expense reports, field assessments – it was a whole paper trail of the genocide. He was planning to use it as blackmail material in case anyone tried to prosecute him for his involvement. Guess that didn’t do him any good, huh?”

                “He was turned into a Philosopher’s Stone?”

                “No. He, uh, shot himself in the head. About two months before I ran. Really shook everyone up. Anyway, I helped him hide the case. It’s in Central, in the sewer system.”

                “Can you tell me its location?”

                “No, I don’t think I could give you directions. I’d be able to show you, though.”

                “You will.”

                “I can’t!” Marcoh exclaimed. Scar scowled at him, but he was undeterred. “I’m serving a life sentence. I can’t just go gallivanting off to Central!”

                “You could break out easily,” Scar scoffed.

                “I won’t,” Marcoh said stubbornly. He caught the look on Scar’s face and added hastily, “And don’t you go breaking me out, either. I’ll help you, but you need to clear in with the court system here. And with the hospital.”

                Scar scowled more as he left. One way or another, he was going to have to talk to Mistress Shan again.


	2. Chapter 2

                It was a fine autumn day when Roy strolled into his office in Central. Riza was already there. They’d been living together for a month, and while their relationship was fairly obvious to anyone paying attention, they were careful to arrive to work separately. It was against regulation for a boss to date his subordinate. Riza and Roy had thrown regulations – and caution – into the wind when they had officially become a couple. (There had been several Just Friends coffee dates before Riza had strongly hinted that Roy should properly ask her out to dinner.)

                “And how’s my favorite lieutenant today?” Roy asked.

                “Serving you your summons,” Riza replied with a neutral expression, handing the telegram to Roy.

                “TO BRIGADIER GENERAL ROY MUSTANG COMMA REPORT IMMEDIATELY TO THE MAIN OFFICE OF THE ISHVALAN BRANCH FOR QUESTIONING ABOUT ROLE IN THE ISHVALAN EXTERMINATION CAMPAIGN STOP SINCERELY MAJOR MILES,” Roy read before tossing the message back to Riza in disgust.

                “I take it you will not be complying, sir?” Riza asked. Roy had told her she didn’t need to call him “sir” when they were alone or not at work, but she continued doing so. She was afraid that if she stopped in some situations, she’d stop in the wrong situations.

                “That man is my subordinate,” Roy seethed. “And he wasn’t even in Ishval!”

                “We will need to stand trial someday, sir,” Riza injected.

                Roy calmed down a bit. “Yes, I know. But now? With Major General Halcrow chomping at the bit? Does Major Miles know what Halcrow would do to Ishval if we weren’t here?”

                “Yes, sir,” Riza said, but Roy wasn’t finished.

                “I’m still trying to convince Grumman to restore the powers of the parliament. The Ishvalans want to cut off their nose to spite their face. It’s senseless vengeance, like with…with…me and Envy.”

                “If you’re done, sir,” Riza pressed on, “the Legion for Amestrian Purity is making trouble again.”

                Roy was done, the frustration burned out of him. He groaned. “What did they do now?”

                “Held a big rally right here in Central. The usual claptrap about how the Ishvalan Reconstruction Project is too expensive for the taxpayers to bear. Oh, they’re insisting that they’re not suggesting another extermination campaign, but they’re arguing that the Ishvalans should have to rebuild Ishval without any help. It was a larger crowd than I’m comfortable with. Also, they’re spreading rumors that you’ve got Xingese ancestry and should therefore be stripped of your citizenship.”

                “Urgh,” Roy groaned.

                “And shot,” Riza finished.

                “Almost makes me nostalgic for when my biggest problem was Scar.”   

                “He died fighting the old Führer,” Riza reminded him.

                “You know,” Roy mused, “I’m not sure he did.”

                “What makes you say that, sir?”

                “Oh, just various comments Olivier has made over the past few months. First it was ‘Have you ever **scarred** yourself using your flame alchemy?’ Then it was ‘Do you really think you can heal the **scars** of this country?’ Finally, when I spoke with her last week, it was ‘Wouldn’t it be terrible for your military career if **Scar** was alive?’”

                “If Scar is alive, where’s he been?” Riza asked.

                “Ishval, I imagine. Maybe I could have Major Miles come here and ask _him_ a few questions. Well, let’s get on with dealing with the Legion.”

                “What should I do about this, sir?” Riza asked, holding up the telegram.

                Roy took the telegram and then looked Riza straight in the eye. “We will face trial for what we did – one day. The day we can stand trial here in Central is the day we’ll know that Ishval is safe. But not today. If anyone asks, tell them you didn’t receive the telegram.” With the snap of his fingers, Roy set fire to the telegram and then held it until everything but the very corner had burned up. Then he shook out the flames and dropped the small remains into the wastebasket.

                “Yes, sir,” Riza said, and started to follow Roy out, only for him to stop abruptly.

                “You know what,” Roy said, “Let’s let the Legion wait a bit. I’m still all worked up and could use some help unwinding.”

                “What do you mean, sir?”

                Roy shut the door to his office, locked it, and then jerked his head toward his desk. “What do you say you and I…?”

                “That’s against several regulations, sir.”

                “I think I can make an exception for my favorite lieutenant,” Roy pressed, charming Riza with his smile.

                “Okay, sir, but you’d better be quick,” Riza said, keeping her expression neutral.

                “Hey!”

                Riza strode past Roy to the desk. Once her back was to him, she let herself grin. She enjoyed winding Roy up as much as she did helping him unwind.

                It was three weeks before Riza had to lie about receiving the telegram. Roy had already left for the day, but Riza had stayed late, both to finish some paperwork and so that she and Roy wouldn’t always been seen leaving together.

                As she was exiting Central Command, she found a young, rather short Ishvalan woman wearing a military uniform coming toward her. Riza had heard that Major Miles had been recruiting a new regiment in Ishval, but this was the first time Riza had met one of them.

                “I’m here to speak with Brigadier General Mustang, ma’am,” the woman said, saluting.

                “You missed him,” Riza said. “What’s your name, soldier?”

                “Private Naomi Kanda, ma’am,” replied the soldier smartly.

                “I’m Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye,” Riza said.

                “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” said Private Kanda, showing no recognition of the name. Then again, she looked barely older than Riza had been when Riza had enlisted. She would have been in here early teens when Riza was in Ishval slaughtering her kinsmen from afar.

                “Kanda?” Riza asked, recognizing the region. “Is that where you’re from?”

                “No, ma’am,” said Private Kanda. “My great-grandparents were from Kanda.” She told Riza where she’d been born and grown up, and Riza recognized it as being in a district that Roy had incinerated.

                “Oh,” said Riza. The next words tumbled out of her mouth unbidden. “How did you survive?”

                “My parents sent me with a family friend to slums outside of Asbec,” Private Kanda replied. “They were supposed to join me, but they didn’t make it, ma’am. I lived there until the blockade came down.”

                “Yes,” said Riza blankly. “You said you wanted to talk to Mustang?”

                “Yes, ma’am,” said Private Kanda. “He’s wanted for questioning for the crimes he committed during the Extermination Campaign.”

                Riza pulled herself together. “Well, he’s not here.”

                “Will he be in tomorrow, ma’am?”

                “I do not know that,” Riza lied.

                “Do you know if he received the telegram that was sent to him, ma’am?”

                “No telegrams have arrived for Brigadier General Mustang,” Riza lied some more. “It must have been lost in the mail.”

                “If you know what mail he has received, you must be able to pass a message along to him. Is that so, ma’am?”

                “No, I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Riza said firmly.

                “Could you arrange for an appointment, ma’am?” Private Kanda pressed.

                “No, I’m afraid I can’t do that, either,” Riza said.

                “But,” Private Kanda began, and then stopped. “Oh. Ma’am.” Riza thought she looked near tears.

                “You should go back to Ishval,” Riza said.

                “I have orders not to return until I’ve completed my mission. _Ma’am_.” Private Kanda’s hands were trembling as she spoke, but her voice didn’t crack.

                Riza drew her gun, and held it at her side. “Central’s a dangerous place.”

                Private Kanda took a step back and then forced herself to stop. “I volunteered for this mission, ma’am. And while there might be dangers in Central, Major Miles would be _disappointed_ in me if I returned empty handed.”

                Riza sighed and put away her gun. Miles was a Briggs soldier. She shouldn’t have expected less from one of his troops, even if she was wet behind the ears. She brushed past Private Kanda and headed home. She told herself that it was for the mission and that it was for Roy, but she felt guilty and miserable for the rest of the night.

 


	3. Chapter 3

                The day after his conversation with Marcoh, Scar spoke with the Prosecutor to find out what paperwork he would need. It was a straightforward enough, just one page releasing Marcoh into Scar’s custody for three days so that they could gather evidence for the State Alchemist trials. It needed three signatures: the judge’s, Scar’s, and Mistress Shan’s. The first two were easy, but Scar wasn’t sure how to approach Mistress Shan.

                As such, nothing happened until the circus came to town. It was the Circus Animalis Animus, run by Darius and Heinkel. They’d come to Ishval to spread cheer and delight. There was over salted popcorn, dodgy sausages, and daring stunts. The children _Ooed_ and _Aahed_ as Yoki the Clown deftly avoided the blows of Heinkel (in his lion form), only to be grabbed by Darius (in gorilla form, on the trapeze), who flipped Yoki through the air into a big tank of water.

                The three of them took their dinner with Scar and Miles afterward. Over the burnt lasagna the Briggs soldiers had passed out, they swapped stories about what they’d been up to, and Scar found himself explaining his dilemma with Yoki to Marcoh.

                “No trials without evidence. No evidence without Marcoh,” Scar concluded.

                “Why don’t you bribe her?” Yoki asked, referring to Mistress Shan.

                “We don’t even have a money based economy,” Scar pointed out.

                “Yes,” Yoki said dryly. “I’ve noticed. But bribery doesn’t have to be about money. What does this Mistress Shan like?”

                “The Rockbells,” Scar scowled. “That’s the problem.”

                Yoki stroked his chin. “Why not use that?”

                “What?”

                “You didn’t kill _all_ of the Rockbells. Blonde hair, about this tall?”

                “That’s manipulative, sneaky, and underhanded!” Scar protested.

                “Well, I didn’t get where I am today by being honest.”

                “You’re a circus clown.”

                “You wound me, sir. Besides, it’s win-win-win all around, isn’t it?”

                “I suppose it is,” Scar said, frowning.

                He put the plan into action the next day. First, he found a Briggs soldier who could provide him access to a telephone. Second, he called Atelier Garfiel. The proprietor answered the phone, and Scar asked to speak to Winry Rockbell. There was a brief hold, and then Winry answered the phone.

                “Hello,” Scar started, feeling utterly awkward and uncomfortable.

                “Scar? Is this Scar?”

                “Yes.”

                “I thought you were dead?”

                “I am not dead.”

                “Uh…why are you calling?”

                The conversation got away from Scar then. “I’m calling about the finer things in life.”

                “What?”

                Scar paused the conversation to beat the phone against his forehead. Doing his best to collect his thoughts, he tried again. “There’s no automail in Ishval.”

                “Oh. There must be a great need, mustn’t there?”

                “Yes. There isn’t much money, but it’s not for me…” Scar trailed off. This wasn’t working. “But I do have an ulterior motive for asking you.” He instantly felt better after confessing.

                “I don’t think it’s an ulterior motive if you tell me.”

                “The woman who runs the hospital here, she was a friend of your parents. She’d love to meet you.” It came out in a rush, and Scar heard quiet sobbing on the other end of the line. His heart sank. The whole conversation was a failure.

                Scar was taken aback by Winry’s next words. “I’ll get out there as soon as I can,” she said.

                “Thank you,” he said, and hung up the phone.

                It was another week before Winry arrived in Ishval for an extended stay. Scar and Miles met her at the train station, and Miles had a Briggs truck take them over to the hospital. Scar hung back and silent when they arrived. The paperwork he needed Mistress Shan to sign seemed to burn in the pocket of his robes.

                Mistress Shan met them in the lobby of the hospital. Scar shuffled his feet and then made introductions. “This is Mistress Shan. She runs the hospital. She knew the Rock—she knew your parents. This is Winry Rockbell. She’s an automail mechanic.”

                He didn’t further than that. Mistress Shan and Winry were crying and hugging each other and chatting breathlessly. Scar didn’t catch all of it, but he was pretty sure he heard Mistress Shan insisting that the new automail wing of the hospital be the Rockbell Wing. Scar supposed that was more feasible than paying Winry her usual rates.

                Mistress Shan finally broke away from Winry to glare at Scar. “What do you want?” she demanded. Scar shuffled his feet. “Winry said you had an ulterior motive for bringing her here. So what do you want?”

                “Marcoh,” Scar said. “Three days.” He pulled out the paperwork, and Mistress Shan read over it.

                “Fine,” she said. “But bring him back in one piece.” Pulling out a pen, she scribbled her signature under where Scar had signed _Ezekiel Keystone_ , thrust the paper back to Scar, and returned to her conversation with Winry. Scar heard her insist that Winry join her family for dinner that night.

                Miles clapped Scar on the shoulder. “Nicely done.”

                Scar reached up and clasped Miles hand. “We’ll get them,” he promised.

                Arrangements were made for Scar and Marcoh to leave the next morning. Scar asked his master to take over his Classical Ishvalan class in the evenings and lead the pre-dinner prayer. He instructed his alchemy students in the lessons for the next several days. He packed supplies.

                The next morning found Scar and Miles in bed together. It was a fast day, in which (Scar had explained to Miles) that which was usually permissible was denied that one might develop better self-control and thus be able to resist the temptations of evil, which were never permissible. Nevertheless, some actions were still allowed on fast days, and Miles was rubbing Scar’s lower back with his hand. Scar closed his eyes and let his breathing relax, enjoying the touch. It was nice. It had been a long time since he’d had a partner and never one like Miles.

                He’d had his master bless their relationship before they’d begun sharing a house and a bed. They couldn’t get married under Ametrian law, of course, but they were united in Ishvala’s eyes. Scar had been careful to explain that in detail to Miles before they moved in together. He had become cognizant to the fact that Miles was often ignorant of the customs that Scar had known since childhood.

                He sighed. They needed to get up if they wanted to get food before sunrise. Miles hand withdrew, and the two men prepared for the day.

                Breakfast that morning was eggs scrambled into various geometric shapes such as spheres, cubes, and tetrahedrons. They were all either slightly undercooked or slightly burnt or somehow both. Scar and Miles ate them anyway. There wouldn’t be another meal until after the sunset.

                “Promise me you’ll come back safely,” Miles said between bites of egg.

                “Marcoh and I are just going to retrieve a case from the sewer system,” Scar assured him. “We’ll barely have to interact with anyone, and I’ve been down there lots of times.”

                “I know,” Miles said. “It’s just…this…Ishval…us… I’m afraid if I make one wrong move, it’ll all come crashing down.”

                 “We’ll get the case.”

                “And if you do?” Miles asked quietly. “What if there **is** evidence against the Flame Alchemist in there? What happens then? I suppose we could sit on the evidence a couple of years, until Ishval is strong enough to stand on its own two feet.” He paused, ate another egg, and then sighed. “But that’s not the sort of Ishval we want to rebuild, is it?”

                Scar smiled warmly at him. “You taught me to believe in systems again. I won’t accept that Mustang is the only Amestrian in Central who is sympathetic to our cause.”

                “Remind me,” Miles said as they finished their breakfast. “Can I kiss you goodbye, or would I have to wait until sundown for that? Or until you get back, I suppose?”

                “Kissing is allowed,” Scar said, and they kissed. Scar was reluctant to breakaway, but he and Marcoh needed to be on their way. They only had three days.

                For the travel to Central, Scar wore pants, a long-sleeved shirt, a cap, and sunglasses. Even with the improved train routes, it took Scar and Marcoh much of the day to reach Central. They found a hotel for the night and set out for the location of Billy’s case early the next morning.

                They soon left the surface for the sewer system, with Marcoh adamant that they enter by a specific entrance. “I know the way by the number of my strides from this point,” Marcoh explained. “That’s why I had to show you in person.”

                “Lead the way,” Scar said, and Marcoh began walking carefully forward, counting as he went.


	4. Chapter 4

                As the sun was just coming up over the horizon, Roy and Riza were preparing to have a morning of delights before heading into work when the phone in their shared flat rang. Riza, who was closer, answered it.

                “Hello,” she said.

                “Lieutenant Hawkeye?” the voice on the line asked. It was Major General Halcrow. “What are you doing at Mustang’s place?”

                Riza thought quickly. “I came over early to help him with some paperwork, sir. You know he’d be lost without me. How can I help you?”

                “I need you two to start working ASAP. It’s the damned Legion again. Two of its members were just spotted entering the sewer system. Do you know how much damage a bomb down there could do?”

                “Right away, sir,” Riza said, and hung up the phone after Halcrow gave her the location. It was close to where she and Roy lived, which was no doubt why Halcrow had called him instead of fostering it off on a lower-ranked field agent. In the past two weeks, the Legion had detonated three bombs in public spaces. At least, they thought it was the Legion. Nothing had been proven so far. She turned to where Mustang was on the bed. “You’d better put your pants on, sir. It’s the Legion.” She repeated what Halcrow had told her.

                Roy and Riza got ready speedily and headed to the location. They headed into the sewers. They hadn’t been traveling for more than ten minutes when they heard footsteps coming toward them. Riza was surprised to see if was not two members of the Legion who were coming toward them but Scar and a man she didn’t recognize, but who had a face more severely scared than Scar’s and who Roy identified questioningly as “Dr. Marcoh?”

                Marcoh was holding a briefcase, which he clutched protectively to his chest when he saw Roy and Riza. Scar clenched and unclenched his fists. Roy held up hands. Riza drew her gun.

                “Well, you’re not the Legion,” Roy said.

                “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Scar said. “Let us pass.”

                “Uh uh,” Roy said. “You’re wanted on over a dozen counts of murder.”

                Scar was livid. “I’m wanted? Hypocrite! How much blood is on **your** hands?”

                Roy was struggling to keep his temper, as well. “Do you know how much I’ve done for you and your people? For crimes committed when I was **twenty-three**!”

                “And at twenty-three you didn’t know genocide was wrong?”

                “What was I supposed to do, fight the whole Amestrian army?”

                “I did!”

                Roy and Scar glared at each other as tension stretched in the air. Riza wondered if she was going to have a shoot Scar. Marcoh still hadn’t spoken, and he was still holding the briefcase to his chest protectively. Riza realized that she was going to need to do something before the whole situation exploded.

                She took a careful step forward. “At least they’re not the Legion planting a bomb in the sewer, sir,” she pointed out optimistically.

                “A bomb in the sewer?” Scar looked momentarily surprised. He looked up at the ceiling and then down at the floor. “I suppose it would be the same effect if I destroyed part of the wall so we could escape.” He looked down the length of the sewer. “Thousands of houses would be without facilities. The decrease in flow would break the pumps at the closest pumping station. The backup could risk contaminating the drinking water along the length of the sewer. And anything above the destruction point would be lost as well. Come on, Marcoh. We need to go.” Lowering his hands, he began to walk purposefully but not aggressively toward Roy and Riza.

                “Hand over the case,” Roy said as they drew close.

                “I’m terribly sorry,” Marcoh said, “but it’s my case. See? It has my name engraved on it.” Riza glanced down at the case and saw that it did indeed have _Timothy Marcoh_ written on it.

                Scar, followed by Marcoh, walked right pass Roy and Riza without paying them any heed. After he passed, he called back, “If you want to arrest me, come to Ishval. There are some questions you can answer while you’re there.”

                Within moments, Scar and Marcoh’s footsteps had faded in the distance.

                “Urgh,” Roy said. “Well, come on. Let’s go file our report.”

                “And say we didn’t find the Legion members, sir?” Riza asked. She still remembered how Scar had helped talk Roy down during his fight with Envy.

                “Yeah,” Roy said. “No Legion, no bomb, the whole thing was an understandable case of over vigilance.” They turned and headed toward the exit.

                “Are you going to do as Scar suggested?” Riza asked, “Go to Ishval? Answer some questions?”

                “Of course not,” Roy said. “We talked about this already.”

                “Yes, sir,” Riza said, but she was troubled.

                She was troubled for the rest of the day: when they returned to Central Command (Roy sneaking in through his office window to avoid Private Kanda, who was still waiting for him out front), when they filed their report, when Halcrow sneered at them, when an ultimately empty bomb threat was called in at the presidential palace. The problem was, she didn’t know why she was troubled.

                As she and Roy were grabbing dinner, she had a go at trying to sort out her feelings.

                “What if I turned myself in, sir?” she asked.

                “What?” Roy replied, his mouth full of food.

                “In Ishval,” she explained. “You’re needed here, to atone by protecting the Ishvalan Reconstruction Project. But I’m just a lieutenant. I could stand trial.”

                “Absolutely not,” Roy said. “You’re not just a lieutenant. You’re my lieutenant – my favorite one. I’d be lost without you.” He took another bite of food, chewed, and swallowed. “Besides, I want you to get a fair trial. The Ishvalans would hardly be impartial.”

                “Yes, sir,” Riza relented.

                “Still, I’d love to know what Dr. Marcoh was doing with Scar.”

                “That was really Dr. Marcoh? I didn’t recognize him with his face like that.”

                “Yeah. No idea what happened to his face. Well, I suppose him being with Scar does make sense, at least. He went to Ishval to work as a doctor – to atone.”

                “Wasn’t he a State Alchemist, sir?”

                “Uh huh.”

                “So there’s a former State Alchemist living and working in Ishval and picking up mysterious briefcases with Scar, sir?”

                “Apparently,” Roy shrugged. “I would have expected them to have executed him.”

                They finished their meal and headed home. The tears didn’t start until Riza had shut herself in the bathroom to take a shower. She found herself sobbing. She sat down, her back against the door of the bathroom.

                “Is everything all right?” Roy asked from the other side of the door.

                Riza forced her voice to sound normal and called back, “Yes, sir!”

                She turned on the shower and stepped in it. Something was very, very wrong. She felt like she had during the fight with Lust and again during the fight with Envy. It was how she always felt when she felt that Roy wasn’t with her, either corporally or emotionally. But she wasn’t able to parse out _why_ , not with him right on the other side of the door.

                Rebecca had warned her not to date her boss, but Riza had thought that Roy would be different. She hit her forehead with the palm of her hand. She was always thinking that Roy would be different. That was why she had given him his flame alchemy, after all – because she thought that she could trust him to make the right decisions.

                He’d made the wrong decision in Ishval, and so had she. She wondered if maybe that was it. Maybe they were making the wrong decision now and didn’t realize it. Just like she hadn’t realized that she couldn’t trust Roy with flame alchemy. Just like Roy hadn’t realized his anger at Envy hadn’t been righteous.

                She finished her shower and dressed in her sleep wear. She was going to have to make a decision. She hoped that whatever she chose, it was the correct path. She feared that whatever she chose, it would be the wrong decision.


	5. Chapter 5

                Scar and Marcoh arrived back in Ishval with no further incident. Scar returned Marcoh to his jail cell with a day to spare, and he delivered the briefcase to the Prosecutor. They opened it up, and the Prosecutor quickly assessed that he could use Scar and Miles help sorting through the papers within, so they got started on that the next day.

                The papers were grouped into piles clipped together, with the organization being roughly chronological. Scar realized that Billy had been collecting papers and, when he had a good pile, covertly adding the pile to the briefcase in the sewer. After sorting the piles into a timeline, the Prosecutor, Scar, and Miles each took a section.

                Scar had the earliest section. The first paper he looked at was carbon copy of a transfer order for Solf J. Kimblee to go exterminate the Kanda region. Scar set his teeth and put it into one pile. The next was a receipt – the original, it looked like – ordering extra gloves for the Flame Alchemist. Scar put that one into a different pile. It wouldn’t convict Mustang on its own, but when it was paired with other evidence, the Prosecutor would be able to paint a narrative, as the Prosecutor described it.

                It took a week for the trio to go through the entire briefcase, since Scar and Miles could both only be there part of the day, as they had other duties to attend to. There were two evenings where Scar brought some of the papers with him to the jail cell, so that Marcoh could explain what they meant.

                The contents of the briefcase weren’t exhaustive. They contained only the papers that Billy had been able to pilfer without suspicion. There were purchase receipts that would have otherwise been thrown out or filed away where no one would have bothered looking at them. There were documents with SHRED stamped on them and letters home that had been redacted and never delivered. There were carbon copies, hand copies, and even a few cases where Billy had photographed documents and then developed the photos.

                Much of the information was essentially useless, as it could only be used to convict State Alchemists who were either already dead or who had been turned into Philosopher’s Stones. Nevertheless, about a third of the papers showed promise, according to the Prosecutor.

                “I’ll need more information than this,” he explained, “if we don’t want them getting off on lack of evidence. They’ll have good defense lawyers, no doubt. But I’ve been groping in the dark before this. Now I know what specific paperwork I need to request from Central. I should be able to bring at least some of the perpetrators to trial, and we might even land a few convictions.”

                The day after they finished sorting through the papers was not a fast day, and that evening found Miles on his belly on the bed. Scar was astride his lower back and massaging his shoulders.

                Scar leaned forward, until his mouth was right by Miles’ ear. “In Classic Ishvalan, the word is ‘futter’,” he murmured to Miles. “It means-”

                The vocabulary lesson was interrupted by a knock on the door.

                “I’ll get it,” Scar said. He opened the door to find Riza there.

                “Scar?” she asked. “I was told that this was Major Miles’ house.”

                “Here,” said Miles, appearing behind Scar and buttoning up his shirt.

                Riza’s eyes moved from Scar to Mile’s half-buttoned shirt. “Oh,” she said, realization dawning on her.

                “I can’t believe Mustang sent you alone to arrest me,” Scar scowled. Miles had, in his spare time, been working on a legal defense for Scar for if Scar was ever arrested for any of the other killings he had committed. It had something to do with the Civil War having never been officially ended and how, even if it had, it was legal for the remnant to continue fighting. It hinged on arguments about Ishval’s once status as a sovereign nation and whether or not Scar could be considered to have been visibly identifiable as a soldier. Miles fretted about the weaker aspects of the defense, but Scar was content to let things be what they would be. Ishvala had already blessed him with more than he had dreamed.

                “I’m not here to arrest you,” Riza said. “Someone else can do that, if they want. And I’m not alone.”

                “Evening, sir!” a voice called from Riza, and Scar realized that she had Private Kanda with her.

                “Well, come in,” Miles said, and the four found themselves seated around the kitchen table.

                “I spoke with both Major General Armstrong and Grumman,” Riza started, although Scar wasn’t sure where she was going with this.

                _I got to meet Major General Armstrong_ , Private Kanda mouthed at Scar, and he grinned back. Miles gave Private Kanda a Look, and she snapped to attention. Scar laughed then, briefly, and Riza – who’d only caught Miles’ Look and nothing else – looked at Scar in confusion.

                “Go on,” Scar said.

                “She’s eager to get back to Briggs, but I asked her to remain in Central a bit longer. And I asked Grumman to listen to her. So you’ll have your advocate in Central,” Riza explained. There were further details that she expounded on.

                “This is why I returned, sir,” Private Kanda said to Miles, shooting off a smart salute. “I’ve completed my mission.”

                “Yes,” Riza agreed. “I’m willing to offer my full confession, and I’m willing to testify against Brigadier General Mustang.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reading the manga, I was struck by the fact that Riza both wanted Roy (and herself) to stand trial and wanted Roy to become Führer because couldn't those two desires easily be at odds with each other? That tension doesn't get explored by the end of the manga, so it prompted this fan fiction instead.


End file.
